Broken Hearts and Hand Grenades
by BecAlora
Summary: Or maybe her greatest fear is that he already knows that she...he knows she cares more than she should. Seddie. COMPLETE. Rated T for language.


Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly at all. If I did Creddie would NEVER EVER EVER happen. It would die a quick painful death. It would be all "I love you" and she would be "Well I don't so you should move on" and then he would mourn for like a season, but at the beginning of the next one he'd be "Okay. I moved on. I need someone who challenges me and you don't." and that would be that.

A/N: Thanks to the enthusiastic response my last one shot got I thought that I should finally finish this. Two years later and here it is. My first Seddie story is on its way to being finished which I sincerely hope you guys will read it when it finally gets posted. I should have one or two one shots for you before then so please just keep the feedback going.

Of Broken Hearts and Hand Grenades {1/1}

As a general rule when it comes to being the bearer of bad news, especially in Freddie's case, Sam does it with as much nonchalance and spite as she can muster. Being a bitch is her thing. Or maybe it's more of being a psychotic bitch; Sam really can't tell the difference. Only, when she has to tell Freddie this, when she has to show him how unhealthy he and Carly are? She's kind of broken inside.

She doesn't want to be delicate. She wants to shove it in his face and punch until he bleeds, but she can't bring herself to do that. Whether it happens to be the fact that she's softening, which is absolutely impossible, or that she actually likes him, she doesn't know. In fact that's a state of mind she's not quite up to exploring at the present moment…or any moment for that matter. She just wants to get this over with.

So when she sidles up to him and compares him to foreign bacon, she pretends that her stomach doesn't clench at the look on his face, that she doesn't feel like throwing her bookbag at Gibby just so she'll feel better. He's devastated, she knows. And the reason that she knows? Well he's broken her heart a time or two as well. Freddie's been her first everything. All those other boys were fleeting bruises. Freddie's always been her first heartbreak.

Sam always recovers from these moments, she has to. Get up, go, breathe, and move on. But this time she falls against the lockers the minute he's gone and hangs her head. She doesn't have the energy to hit or punch or throw. She just broke his heart and she doesn't quite know what to do.

She looks at the clock as she packs her bag. She doesn't have much time left in school, she could skip and no one would know the difference. Maybe Carly would notice, but for the most part Sam knows that people don't exactly fall at her feet for her company. And she likes it like that, for the most part. If she's going to be a juvenile delinquent, she should have the least amount of people possible questioning about her whereabouts.

She slips out the school door and runs as far and as fast as she can. She's led to her favorite vandalized overpass. Sitting on the sidewalk she gasps for air and tries not to cry. Crying means that people like Carly, the people who give a damn in this world, will stop and ask if she's okay. Sam doesn't want to explain herself. Sam can't hold it in though. This isn't like every other time in her life where her emotions are in her grasp. In fact, they're so out of control it's not funny.

So she lets it out. She cries until she's heaving over the side of the overpass, clutching her stomach in pain as she tries not to throw up. Her body's not used to all this iemotion/i. It kinda sucks. She laughs bitterly, no…it does suck. This isn't her, this is not how she wants to waste her day.

So she walks determinedly to the one place she doesn't want to be. Samantha Puckett faces her fears. Samantha Puckett doesn't moon over boys. Samantha Puckett moves on with the rest of the world.

She marches to Carly's door, walks past Spencer with an indiscriminate wave of her hand, and heads towards the studio. It's only the ring of the elevator and the deadened steps that are oh so familiar that stop her. She looks on from her perch on the stairs.

Freddie looks at Spencer, "What did I just do?'

Spencer looks at him confusedly, "I don't know Freddo. What did you do?"

"I cannot believe I let her get into my head like that."

Spencer continues to look confused, "What do you mean? Who got in your head?"

Freddie looks at him, a look of disgust crossing over his face, "Sam. I let Sam get to me."

Spencer nods his head, "Do you want a drink?"

Freddie shakes his head, "I've got to go…" he looks around, lost as he ever could be, "go or something." He moves towards the door, pausing at the doorway,"Thanks for trying to be there Spencer."

"Anytime kid."

Freddie nods, heading out the door. Sam bolts after him. She doesn't know where her feet are carrying her, or maybe she does, right now she's just going with her gut. Her gut has gotten her into more trouble than she will ever be able to recount, but at this moment she has to fix this, has to fix him, even though she knows better than anyone that you can't fix a heart that's already broken.

She finds him in the stairwell, back heaving with the heavy breaths he's taking. "Fredward?" she asks softly.

He tenses at her voice, just like she knew he would, but she's never shied away from him before and she's not about to start now. "What do you want Sam?"

Sam just looks at him and shrugs. It's an action that is completely lost on him because he refuses to turn around, refuses to even look at her. "I had to make sure you didn't throw yourself to your death or something. You're dramatic like that."

He bristles and she straightens her spine. She knows what's coming next. He's going to yell. At her. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding she knows she's ready for the onslaught.

"Haven't you done enough?" he asks miserably. He still won't turn around.

She doesn't know why, but she forces him to face her, "I didn't do anything wrong. If it was right then what I said wouldn't have mattered. You two would still be together. You're obviously not. That's not my fault."

She sees the anguish in his eyes and it forces her to take a step back and hit the railing, "It is completely your fault. I had everything I've ever wanted, exactly what I wanted for years, and you demolished it with a well placed conversation. Good going Sam." He laughs humorlessly and his eyes become unreadable, "You know, it's funny." Sam's about to ask what he means but he continues, "Carly's always got me around her finger. I'd do anything for that girl. I risked my life for her." He looks at her searching her eyes for some kind of answer before asking, "So why is it you that's always in my head? Why is it you that's always got me twisted in knots?"

She doesn't want to answer that question, doesn't want to even begin to fathom where answering that will take her. So she doesn't. She just shrugs and, from lack of anything better to say, she walks with the intention to walk as far and as fast as she can from this situation. Yes she's never shied away from a situation, but that's not true.

She laughs softly to herself as she admits that she shies away from plenty of Freddie, subtext-ladened, situations. Her greatest fear is that he'll find out, that the boy who thinks he knows everything will finally figure it out. Or maybe her greatest fear is that he already knows that she...he knows she cares more than she should.

The thought makes her very bitter. Cause Freddie knowing and not rectifying the situation must mean he doesn't care, a response she's carefully cultivated over the years as a defense mechanism to her often sadistic behavior.

"Sam." He says softly, it almost causes her to stop her descent to the front of the building, but it's not enough. He doesn't say what she wants him to say, what she ineeds/i him to say. She walks faster.

"Sam!" He exclaims, jogging to catch up with her. "Sam why won't you talk to me?"

She sighs and turns, his body colliding with hers and slamming her into the wall. Suddenly her mind is a cacophony of thoughts, emotions, and physical responses. She feels his chest heaving against hers, though she doesn't know if it's because he had to jog or if it's because of her proximity. She likes to pretend it's because of physical exertion.

His chest is hard and defined against his and she tries to wiggle her way out of it. When he won't budge she clenches her teeth and looks up at him, he's looking at her with an unreadable expression, "Stop looking at me like that," she grinds out.

He doesn't, if anything there's an inperceptible shake of his head and he grabs her hands, pinning them above her head so she can't do any more damage, "Not until you answer my question."

She struggles for a moment before giving up and glaring, "Figure it out on your own. I have somewhere to be."

Freddie looks at her gently and rests his forehead against hers, inhaling her, "Talk to me please. Just talk to me. I..." he pauses and his eyes close as if in pain.

His grip slackens on her hands and she sees her chance to run, but she doesn't. She's been hiding all this in for far too long. Grabbing his face she gently brushes her lips over his, one, two, three times. He stumbles away from her as if burned.

Her face turns red and she turns toward the last flight of stairs, "That's what I thought."

Growling he jerks her back to him, "You don't know anything." Before he loses his nerve he pulls her as close as possible, every inch of his body touching hers, and kisses her hard.

Her legs threaten to give out from under her and he backs her into the wall again, hands pulling her legs into place around his waist. She pushes against him, feeling him against her. They both groan at the contact.

A slow burn begins in the pit of her stomach and there's been no other time in her life that she's felt like this. His lips slide smooth against hers, nipping at her, and tasting her. Her mind is a complete tizzy. She doesn't know whether to push him off and run or just keep kissing him.

She decides to keep kissing him.

So they're volatile. They're bound to run this, whatever this is, into the ground. They're a grenade, the pin is pulled, and it's merely seconds away from exploding.

But she doesn't care because if they're going down, they're going down together, and they'll light up the sky like a firework or, more aptly, a hand grenade.


End file.
